


Day One

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Gen, canon-compatible, shout-out to Agent Carter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 15:15:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5875762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz & Simmons' first day at the Academy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day One

When Leopold Fitz was introduced to SHIELD Academy for the first time, his heart raced and he resisted the urge to duck his head and play with his sleeves as Pepper Potts, apologising for Mr Stark’s absence, officially presented him with his scholarship certificate. The crowd cheered, and his smile turned honest. His heart lifted, and he heard the words his mother had said before he’d left.

_“I love you, but I could never understand what you do. These people can. These people appreciate it. They’ll appreciate you.”_

But appreciation wasn’t exactly what he would have called it: the other students snuck glances at The Scholarship Kid for the rest of the day, and if he’d had a dollar for every time his system had been hacked in the name of ‘parental controls,’ he could have bought himself a ticket home.

When he found out he had a single room, Fitz was infinitely grateful. He pushed through the busy corridors, huddled over his suitcase, without talking to anyone. Some of the others watched him, concerned. Some of them sneered at him as he passed. He made sure to keep his head down around those ones. As he reached his door, one of them offered him a drink. He smiled and laughed – _good one_ \- and fumbled for his keys.

When at last the door was between him and the others, he sighed and leant against it. It had been a long, gruelling day of introductions and speeches and ice-breaking group activities. Some of them had been fun, to be fair, and he had been able to surprise a few people with how good he was, but he hated the way they looked at him. He’d hoped to feel welcome here, but he felt just as alien as ever.

He looked around at the small room. The furniture was a bit old and battered from use, but that didn’t matter. In fact, it was probably better than receiving something clean and new; at least the place felt lived-in, an escape from the tightly regulated labs and strange, soulless classrooms. He tossed his suitcase onto the bed and stared at its battered surface. He ran his hand across the top before he unlatched it, but when he heard the click, he sighed and stopped again. 

What is he doing? He’s insane, he can’t do this. He’s never going to get as far as these kids – no, not kids, they’re adults, with phDs. _Multiple phDs._ He’s the kid. A scholarship kid, at that. Apparently that means something in America. It means he’s not good enough. A feeling he’s used to, even though he can’t quite make sense of it, since it seems to him to mean that he’d earnt his place through skill arguably moreso than anyone else here.

The thought made him smile, though his heart sunk even further when he thought of his mother. It wasn’t going to be easy to communicate with her. She could barely operate a computer. He’d have to use a phone, and international calls were expensive. He’s insane, he thought again, and the smile started to drop off his face. He’s absolutely insane. And selfish. He should have stayed at home. He could have sold computer programs or worked at the mechanic’s down the road. He wouldn’t have minded it. Then at least he could have earnt enough for board, and maybe even paid his way through some kind of higher education. And he would have been able to support his mother, for all her insistence that she didn’t need him around. And people would have looked at him

…the same way.

He dropped onto the bed beside his suitcase, and laid back, staring at the roof.

 _“Don’t you dare, Leopold Fitz,”_ she’d said to him. It felt like weeks ago, though it had been less than forty-eight hours since she’d pressed that battered suitcase into his reluctant hands. _“I love you, but I just cahn’ understand what you do. These people can. These people appreciate it. They’ll appreciate you, if you just show them what you can do. Apparently your Mr Stark believes you can do it, and so do I. So get on that plane and make yer mother proud. I know ye’ will, Leo.”_

—

“D’you want- I mean, would you like a beer?” Her roommate held one out, and Jemma blushed.

“Oh, it’s okay.” She waved it away. “I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble or anything. It’s frustrating, that’s all.” 

“I can imagine. Don’t listen to ‘em, English. They can stick it. You’ve got more degrees than they have. Throw your certs in their faces. And tell me if anyone gives you crap, okay?”

“I’ll be sure to do that.” She smiled, and the phone in her pocket started to buzz. Now, really? At least she was in understanding company. But her heart still spent a few moments in her throat as she excused herself: “It’s – it’s my dad.”

Madi got up with an understanding smile, and headed to the kitchen to give Jemma some space. Jemma wasn’t sure when “excuse me” had begun to require the other person removing their presence. Maybe it was an American thing. She was already up and moving to her bedroom though, so she closed the door behind herself anyway.

_“Evening, honey. How was your first day?”_

Untouched, her suitcases lined the walls. Leaning against the doorframe, she picked at the nearest zip, controlling her voice, containing how wonderful it was to hear another voice without the twang of the United States. “It’s- it’s fine. Good, actually. Uh, my roommate’s nice.” 

_“That’s great, Jemma. What about the other kids? How are your classes?”_

“They’re fine.”

They held alcoholic solutions above her head, and demanded ID to let her use the scalpels. But apart from that, fine.

 _“You sound tired, honey,”_ her mum piped in. _“Are you okay? Have you been taking your magnesium? What about Omega 3s, have you eaten fish in the last three days?”_

“Yes, Mum, I had salmon last night for dinner. I’m just a little tired. It’s been a long day. Exciting, you know.”

She bit her nail, caught herself and lowered her hand to reduce the temptation.

_“That’s great, love. You look after yourself now.”_

_“Does Professor Schlozman still-?”_ her father added. She could hear her mother trying to wrestle the phone away.

_“Robert, she’s tired! Let her go rest!”_

_“I haven’t talked to my girl all week, I just wanted to know-“_

_“She’s a hard worker and she needs to sleep!”_

“I don’t-“

_“She doesn’t need sleep, Marie, it’s only six o’clock in Boston.”_

“I just-“

_“She’s probably got jetlag!”_

_“Leave the girl alone! If she wanted to sleep, she’d tell us!”_

There was a knock at the door. “Yo, English, you alright?”

“Yeah!” Jemma cursed silently, but then an idea seized her. “Mum, Dad, my roommate’s calling me. There’s a dinner thing on tonight. We’re gonna be late-“ 

 _“Going to,”_ they corrected her in unison.

“Yes, we _are going to_ be late,” she corrected herself. “I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow, after I’ve had a sleep. Goodnight!”

_“Goodnight, love.”_

_“Have fun, honey. Sleep well.”_

More grateful than she would like to admit, she hung up the phone and tossed it onto her bed covers before returning to her and Madi’s shared living area. It was a breath of fresh air.

 Then Jemma’s face dropped. 

“Oh Lord,” she whispered. “I just lied to my parents. I lied straight to them. I feel awful.”

“It’ll pass,” Madi insisted, putting a sympathetic hand on her roommate’s shoulder. “Besides, there is a dinner thing. I assumed you weren’t going after what those guys said, you know, about your…development.”

“Who said what about my what?”

Jemma looked at her roommate with wide eyes.

“Don’t worry, they were dicks, okay? I’m making us pasta anyway. You have dinner plans with me. Gotcha covered. No lying involved. Feel better?” 

“Actually…yeah.” She smiled, and Madi grinned back. 

“There ya go. And remember, it’s not against the rules for you to drink the beer, just for me to give it to you. If I were to leave it here and you were to say, find it, I don’t think anyone needs to know. Besides, you can drink in England, right?”

As Madi got up and headed back to the kitchen, Jemma lingered. She eyed the bottle on the coffee table, condensation glistening, inviting, from its surface.


End file.
